the words that fall out of my pen when I step off the curb…

Author: seingraham

and everyone said she knew why
But she dabbed on her scent, and she held
high her head, carried on with her days,
using enviable calm…
He drowned himself in a pool
The words sang in her mind like a hymn
But she tapped her heels to a different beat
She kept herself far from water
*(from One of Us Cannot Be Wrong by L.Cohen)

The voice heard in the wind, a harridan’s
screeching it was; louder than thunder
it pleaded and moaned—but its wants were too
eerie for most—to come into the storm?
What did that mean? No-one cared to find out…
*(from One of Us Cannot Be Wrong by L.Cohen)

its glow warmed half the night
and even though you still weren’t here
my heart felt almost light
Not my mind though, nor my thoughts
They’re still emptied out; not all the candles
in the world can change that fact about

Winding up and rounding off – aside from a few bonus cards … mine are sent and received, I think …Group Six this year for me … some old friends, some new … it was, as always, rewarding and fun.

Again – here’s the display of cards I picked from to send:

Forgot to mention – all my poems this year begin with a line from one of the late, great, Leonard Cohen’s poems,and are credited to him. It’s my small way of paying tribute to the Canadian wordsmith and lover of all things poetic, including women.

Tell me what balloons know, you asked me
yesterday – are they filled with stuff like brains?
Do they think like I do, or do they just sleep
all the time? I admit I did not know what to say,
so said nothing for a bit. Finally, you told
me it was okay, that no-one seemed to know;
I guess you’ve been asking around, and balloon
experts are hard to come by … hmm.

Known for cowboys and rodeos, calf-roping
and horse-back riding…it is always surprising
when the skyscrapers spring out of the bald
Prairie, and they do. A big city with a
small-town feel – you can see the mountains
most days if the weather’s good. And downtown
is large enough and cosmopolitan enough to be
closed down to traffic. It’s an amazing place
to shop, dine, and party … and Stampede’s
a whole nother fine time.

It has been months now that I’ve seen you
hopping about that roof over there.
You perch on the chimney and then go to
the peak…then bounce along the shingles
Then off to the tree, back to the roof
I wonder where you sleep – do you have
a nest over there? Is it under an eave?
You don’t seem to make a sound but
maybe it gets lost with all the cawing
from the murderous crows around here
Maybe you are a crow – a baby – it’s hard
to tell – even with binoculars…I like you
Don’t fly away, okay?

“I don’t know,” the male says to the female; she
hunkers down, great with child, but still
they have no nest and she is very put out.
He, however, is concerned – snow has
been unpredictable and they’ve only just
turned brown. They still have bits of white
showing. She turns her back on him. Oh well,
better get moving or they’ll be splats on the
road, he knows it … he doesn’t want that for
certain. He’ll find them a place to burrow.
He hates when she’s mad.

In a library that’s more cathedral
than home for books, extra-high ceilings
are painted with scenes right from the Louvre,
or the Sistine Chapel. The architecture
is Beaux-Art; everything feels old world
and authentic (probably because it is).
It’s a place to write as well as read,
a true reference library, guarded as one enters
by intrepid stone lions: Patience and Fortitude.